TwentyFour Hours
by suncityblues
Summary: A collection of unrelated stories for each hour of the day. Inside will be more details for each individual story, but the characters and pairings and POV varies from chapter to chapter. Chapter three is up now!
1. Midnight

**Title**: Midnight  
**Characters**: Hanna, Zombie, Conrad  
**Rating**: work safe  
**Summary**: Because that's just what you do and what you will continue to do until you can't anymore. Zombie's POV; Gen, mainly, but could be seen as Hanna/Zombie, if you want it to be.

-;-

So it's happening, I'm doing the twenty-four hour theme challenge thing from Live Journal. If you're interested to know more about it then you can go to my LJ (which is linked in my profile) and there's a link to a 24-hour community there.

Anyway, this means that there will be 24 chapters total of mildly related stories/drabbles for HiNaBN. Just for your reference, some of the stories will be in second person and some of them will be in third, sometimes there will be relationships and other times it will be gen.

I don't have a set update time; just when I get around to it, sorry.

* * *

MIDNIGHT

* * *

You suspect that people call it the witching hour for a reason.

Or at least another reason than petty superstition left over from an older time, and maybe that's why more often than not you find yourself tagging along after Hanna on some case around this time of night.

You don't mind; you just think it's interesting.

You've never mentioned this theory to him, though, since it doesn't seem particularly necessary or important and, generally, the only time you actually think about it is when you're watching Hanna do something dangerous or about to do something dangerous, yourself.

Tonight it's vampires, which is something like a normal night or as close to a normal night as Hanna's little group could get, you suppose.

But you don't mind that either, because, well, isn't it odd how "normal" is such a flexible word?

How normal for some people is living in a one room apartment with a shared bathroom down the hall and how for you it's being a zombie who fights vampires and makes Hanna breakfast in the morning.

But you're glad things have gotten more exciting, though.

Before it was just sitting, thinking, being not lost but directionless. At least at this time, you're not so alone, and even though you never noticed it before, you do now. And you're glad. Or at least as glad as you can be.

Now you have someone to protect, something anchoring you to this plane of existence besides memories you can't even remember.

Currently Conrad is complaining about, well, everything and Hanna isn't paying any attention to anything besides where he's planning on going, which is supposed to be some decrepit old building in a decrepit old part of town, where the vampires who had kidnapped the client's kid sister are rumored to reside.

And you are just watching and waiting for something to go horribly wrong as it inevitably does.

Statistics are not your strong suit and probably never were but you can't deny that with the current score of good to bad events and their likelihood of happening to Hanna, he officially counts as unlucky. And despite the fact that, technically speaking, there is no such thing as luck, only probability, there has to be some name for consistently getting the worst scenario to come up over and over again.

But that's part of why you like him, maybe.

Because even though nothing ever seems to go right, he still tries. He still wants to and will help anyone who needs it, when he can, no matter what.

When you were alive, you wonder if you would have been friends with someone like that.

You hope so.

And you wonder if you were ever superstitious. If you ever got the creeps for no reason when you were all alone in your house or apartment, or wherever you lived. If you ever knew there might have been something real causing it. If you had any idea what this city contained underneath its reasonably priced condos with their full kitchens and spacious living spaces.

You're pretty sure you did know something was going on, or else you would be probably be a little less green.

Whether or not you're be more dead or less dead, you're not sure about, however.

But that's nothing new; you're used to being unsure about things, sort of floating out to sea with nothing in view but more blue water, more blue sky, all blue, all equally unresponsive. The feeling you have right now is not particularly compelling. Hasn't been for a long while.

Hanna has turned into a rather dank piss scented alley.

Conrad squeezes his eyes tight, like a prayer to a god that doesn't exist but probably hates him anyway, and says that if they don't find what they're looking for in five minutes he is going to leave and also maybe throw up on his new shoes. And he really likes his new shoes.

Hanna still isn't listening to Conrad, being too interested in getting closer to their goal, and you just shrug your shoulders and try to look sympathetic because you can't think of a proper emotion for the occasion but you know Conrad deserves at least some acknowledgment even if it's feigned. Just for being there, after all life is ninety percent showing up, someone had told you once.

Conrad just sighs and grumbles some more but doesn't slow down or turn back, because as unhappy and flustered as he can be, he wouldn't just leave them there, especially when he knows Hanna and what Hanna is likely to get himself into, and even maybe because he thinks of them as his friends in some strange way.

Besides, Hanna still has a coat pocket full of blood he meant to hand over earlier in the evening.

Towards the back of the alley there is the side of an abandoned office building with an official entrance on the next street, you assume. You take this to be the right place, judging by Hanna's, "gnee!"

And just your luck, the fire-escape is still intact and Hanna has a twinkle in his eye that says they're probably all going to die when it collapses on top of itself as they try to climb up it.

You think that if you were alive and capable of breathing you would sigh right now but you follow him anyway, it doesn't even occur to you not to, like a natural instinct, you find yourself steadying on a rickety metal stair. You probably can't die again, anyway. Conrad goes up too, just a bit grumpier.

And, much to your pleasure the swaying rusted death trap holds and Hanna manages to disappear into a third story window, saying, "they're in here," then a pause, a look around, "...I think..."

You figure he's probably right, since even though the inside of your nose has mostly rotted you can still smell the overpowering organic stench of dead things trying to decompose.

Hanna frowns and covers his nose with his baggy sleeves, Conrad looks hungry and disgusted at the same time, and you, you just watch, a bit on edge but a bit amused, too.

And not for the first time since you've met him, have you been glad that you can be glad. That you still at least remember emotions, or can feel them at any rate. And you know you have him to thank, and you want to thank him by always being there. By protecting him. By making him breakfast, by buying him new sharpies even though he never asks.

You know he's definitely right when you hear the gurgled yelp from someone in a back room, a sound you would imagine being attributed to someone or something trying to yell for help when there are fangs being stuck into its neck.

Hanna is running now, hammer out, and you chase after him.

Because that's just what you do and what you will continue to do until you can't anymore.

* * *

uhhhhh...

I don't really have a lot to say about this one.

I mean this is the first time I've written Zombie and I had a good time with it, but I think he might be a bit OoC or something, so sorry.

Sobutwellanyway, how are all you lovelies doing?


	2. One AM

**Title**: Twenty-Four, chapter 2; One AM  
**Characters**: Conrad / Worth  
**Rating**: Uh maybe somewhere between M and T?  
**Summary**:Another part of the 24 story. Sorry it's taken me ages to work on; I've been really busy/lame these past few weeks.

Anyway this part is Conrad/Worth pairing; and in third person for once~~

* * *

ONE AM

Watching the muscles in Worth's back ripple around his bumpy protrusive bones as he looks for his shirt shouldn't make Conrad feel like he does:

Antsy and memetic, and happy, like a sound vibration, humming and twisting in place just under his skin.

What Conrad should feel, at least what he tells himself he should feel, is guilt and shame and disgust with himself and Worth and the world as a whole. Should feel loathing and the desire to stock up on antiseptic cleaning supplies.

Because this is Worth in front of him.

Worth, who is a dick. Worth who doesn't care about anyone or anything besides himself, doesn't bathe regularly, or even brush his teeth.

There he is, all scrawny and tall and naked, like if someone had taken a normal sized person and stretched them out, who is digging in the front pocket of his recently found shirt for the small red zippo lighter Conrad's a bit annoyed to know is there.

Conrad rolls his eyes and then rolls over; pretends to try to sleep.

It's easier this way, he tells himself.

Easier and safer and vastly less stupid.

This way he doesn't have to watch Worth leave.

Worth, for his part, is completely ignoring him.

Lights up a cigarette.

Slides his arms into his shirt but doesn't bother to button it up.

Too tired or too lazy or something else entirely, not even he knows.

This is how it usually plays out.

They meet, argue, and then go somewhere and fuck each other's brains out.

They don't talk much after sex.

Sometimes they'll just lay next to each other, not cuddling or even touching, ramrod straight, staring at the ceiling of the horrible semi-whore house pay-by-the-hour motel a few blocks away from Worth's shitty "office."

Worth would smoke and Conrad would count the cracks in the ceiling.

Wonder if vampires could get asbestos poisoning.

Oddly content but wanting for something neither of them particularly tried to think about, talk about, know about.

Feel, at all.

It would have been easier and cheaper and less humiliating to do it in one of their living areas but neither would set foot for more than a few minutes in either place and, in a way, this was cleaner; simpler. Reduced only to straight immobile lines. If you left something there it was gone forever, no two ways about it; no lost-and-found.

="=

Once, in the winter, right after they had first started having sex, Worth, probably half asleep, pulled Conrad close and held him to his chest. Whispered gibberish into his ear and rubbed his thumb on his shoulder in little circles.

Conrad can still remember how his chest got tight then. How his stomach twisted and churned in a not all-together bad way. How after a moment he held Worth back and wished he had some body heat to give him.

They laid like that for ages with the thick blanket of sleep on top of them but not closing in entirely.

When Conrad woke up he was cold and alone and stuck with the bill.

Back in the present, though, Conrad was listening to the sounds of Worth putting his pants on. The soft shhh sliding sound of the belt going through the loops.

He had long gotten over the fact that Worth was Worth which meant strange and erratic behavior was to be expected and that he was Conrad which meant constantly wanting to punch Worth in the face for it.

That was just who they were and probably always would be. Maybe.

Worth sits back down on the bed, and starts putting his shoes on.

Somewhere deep in Conrad's stomach a wad of lead begins to form, to pull him down and make him hurt.

He can't even pinpoint why.

Maybe it was the memory of winter, or maybe it was the way Worth's weight on the edge of the bed felt so familiar like the smell of his hand-rolled cigarettes but something shifts as it does from time to time.

Conrad sits up, which is unusual for them, since generally Conrad lays there, ignoring Worth, long after he leaves. Sometimes he reads a book or flicks through the two maybe three television stations if the TV is working, just biding time until the hour is up -to get his money's worth, since he is always the one who pays for the room, anyway.

But it happens enough, Conrad getting up, looking alive afterwards, that Worth knows what's coming; arches an eyebrow, casually, and waits.

Worth is wrong though, he doesn't know what's coming at all.

Usually when it happens Conrad says something along the lines of, "it's over, Worth, I'm sorry, but I just-can't- not anymore, no." And this feeling lasts for about a week, maybe two if Conrad is really mad but it never lasts.

This time is not like that.

Conrad is sitting up, and Worth is staring at him, waiting for some explanation, for the words to leave Conrad's mouth, so they could have the obligatory argument and he could storm out, but it doesn't happen.

Instead, to both of their surprise, Conrad takes the sides of Worth's face, scratchy and unshaved, and pulls him into a kiss. Chaste, in a way, but so much more intimate than either of them could remember.

They had kissed before, just not like this.

Before it was always, always hungry, needy, forceful, blind.

Neither could be held responsible for it and they took refuge in that fact, took leaps and bounds and didn't look back.

But this... there were no words either of them could think of for this.

This was something shared; not taken.

Conrad had Worth's bottom lip in his teeth, gentle and pulling. Could feel Worth's face heat up, and feel his hands encircle the bottom part of Conrad's back. Tasted the blood accidently drawn when Conrad's vampire tooth hit soft flesh, neither of them minded.

Mouths were open and warm and loose with spit and blood. Slippery tongues and fat lips and calloused hands and all sorts of pressure in all sorts of places.

It was them, together, their potential.

It was one o'clock in the morning.

='=

"you get used to hanging if you hang long enough."

-don't even sing about it, the books

* * *

This chapter was a bit shorter than usual but it did it's job. Now 22 more chapters to go~~

quick question: if I wrote a fic in French would anyone be able to read it?

Also I'm thinking...Toni next... probably.

I love Toni.


	3. Two AM

**Title:** Twenty-Four, part three, Two AM  
**Characters:** Toni  
**Rating**: work safe

**Chapter Summary:**  
Alright, 3/24, down! I'm going to try and get quite a few of these out this month because I can't exactly afford to dawdle seeing as how I'm going to be getting significantly more busy in a few months.  
As for this, it's about Toni. I guess it could be considered a character study, if you want.  
I like writing girls but I think I might suck at it. /sigh/

Ohhh by the way, if you're bored or something, you should hop over to my LJ and vote in my poll (please).

Thanks & I hope you like the story~

* * *

TWO AM

She can't sleep unless there's music on.

It doesn't matter what kind but it just has to be there, soft and unobtrusive in the background. Floating around the room in the feathery darkness and filling it with something. With care, with, "I know you're there, I know you're there."

Tonight there is no music playing.

There is a level of stress that comes with being a werewolf, even a manageable one. It keeps her up sometimes, not because she wishes she was anything else, or because she's unhappy but because she feels attracted to the night. Drawn to it and at home there.

And maybe it's a werewolf thing or maybe it's just her, but probably it's something in between. Sometimes it's hard to differentiate, but she doesn't mind. Werewolf things and Toni things are the same as far as she's concerned because they're all her. It's not two parts of the same person, it's all one thing, there are no sides, there is just her. Just Toni. And this is more comforting than she could ever express in words.

She supposes that's what it means to be well adjusted. To be okay with not knowing everything, to just move with reality and accept it. To be a leaf in a stream and all that.

In other words, to not be Conrad.

Besides, if she ever needs a pick-me-up there's always hair-dye -she's no Clementine but she can see the appeal.

Tonight is one of those nights, the Clementine-y kind maybe, that are hard to explain. These are the sorts of nights where she climbs to the roof of her building, it's not very high, but it's just right as far as she's concerned. There are some ugly plants and uglier lawn chairs her landlady threw around to make it appear more used, more homey, a selling point for new tenants maybe, but in truth the only one who ever comes up there is Toni. She likes the tacky touches of decoration, they lend a level of reality to the city. They remind her that under the roads there is dirt and under the dirt there is rock.

Tonight It smells like rain. The air is heavy and all-encompassing and sticky sweet smelling. Earthy and interesting. Even in human form she can smell it, one of her favorites.

Usually this city is full of such boring smells. Smog and garbage and sweat and normal things. People things. She likes them well enough, or at least she doesn't dislike them anyway. They're just what they are. She doesn't spare too much thought on them, unless she needs to. There are other things to do, like work or sleep or talk or think.

But now she is doing none of those things, so the smells come back to her, wrap around her. Become important; take the place of important things.

She is sitting on an ugly broken lawn chair watching the moon and the clouds and stars, the dusty purple blanket behind them, barely visible through the light pollution, but there nonetheless.

She wonders what her friends are doing now. What her family is doing. What the people in the luxury apartment complex two blocks away are doing. She pretends there is a drunk couple dancing and laughing and spilling red wine on white carpet, happy, not caring. The imaginary people remind her of the Dancing Butler. She smiles to herself.

She likes this idea in an artistic sort of way; finds is aesthetically pleasing but it's not for her. Like Anna Karenina, a lovely love story, certainly, but like hell is she going to throw herself under a train for love or shame or anything. She's just not that kind of girl. She'll never be that kind of girl and she is so thankful for that. For being herself, for not being someone else.

At her core she is not Johannes Ockeghem, she is the Red Hot Chili Peppers. She is sex and pain and teeth. She is smart, she is more modern than the modern woman, she is Toni and her bite is much worse than her bark.

Her head tilted upward toward the moon, like the wolf she is, like the wolf she isn't, she smiles with teeth, white, shiny, bare bone.

And she wants to laugh but instead she decides to go to bed.

TWO AM

* * *

Just incase, I'm going to list some of the references:

Clementine - a character from the Gondry film, The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

The Dancing Butler - A painting ( you'll have to google it if you want to see it because doesn't allow hyperlinks ).

Anna Karenina - a book by Tolstoy, about a woman who cheats on her husband (amongst several other side plots) and then throws herself under a train.

Johannes Ockeghem - Renaissance composer.

Red Hot Chili Peppers - ...are you kidding?

* * *

...Anyway, sorry this is a tad short but I really like Toni so she'll probably get one where she actually /does/ something later on.  
There really needs to be more Toni fanfiction out there.

Though, actually, I feel like the community is pretty dead lately, which bums me out but I guess that's just how it goes.

But oh well, onwards and upwards or something like that.

Loooove you gals~~


End file.
